Designated Survivor
by A Deed Without a Name
Summary: Tracking down this vampire wasn't supposed to be easy, but it wasn't supposed to be this hard, either: all Sam's companions are dead, said vampire is glutted on their blood, and he's only kept Sam alive for a very specific task. WARNING: Contains an AU, unrelated Wincest, dubcon, vampire!Dean, blood kink/vampire kink, stuffing, belly rubs, belly worship, and a blowjob.


The pain rolling through his body, like the kind of thunder you felt in your core, was there before Sam even started to wake up.

There was his head, of course, nauseous pressure pounding from a tender spot somewhere in the back up to his sinuses in the front, which were all too happy to let it build up. Something was wrenched and stiff in his neck. His shoulders didn't feel great, either. Sharpness and heat flared along the slatted valleys of his ribs with every breath. There were aching areas all down his spine, tailbone especially upset, and the long bones in his legs didn't hurt, exactly, but he could feel his heartbeat in them.

Easily the worst thing was his left ankle, crushing tight inside his boot and packed with the sort of hurt that radiated wrongness, snapped bones or torn tissue or both, all the way up to his skull. The full force of it brought Sam to for real, had him sucking in a shocked breath. That, of course, just made a lot of things worse.

_Quit bitching_. His father snapped at him from his memory. _Pain's _good_, Sammy, means you made it through. And hopefully that you'll only be half as stupid next time._

Sam opened his eyes a slit. Very low lighting, casual and cozy, poured in but didn't hurt, which boded well for his head injury, at least. Another good sign was that he remembered what'd happened. Meeting up with the other hunters, grinning tightly through round after round of digs and jokes at his expense. Tracking the vampire to the abandoned industrial complex on the edge of town. Splitting up...falling. Hard. Hard enough to knock him out when he hit, clearly.

It felt like somebody'd laid him out on a couch. Head on one arm, feet dangling off the other, because Sam did tend to run longer than the average couch. Had...one of the guys carried him out? Taken him back to their room? He doubted it, especially because there was a cushion under his head and at least two more chocked haphazardly under his foot. He couldn't see any of them caring that much.

Sam opened his eyes wider, saw acoustic ceiling panels gone dingy with age and strip lighting (though it looked like the original fluorescents had been swapped out for something much softer). He glanced around without moving his head. Big, boxy space, grooves in the walls where dividers could be dragged across to break it up. No windows. Looked like a conference room in one of the buildings they'd been moving through, flashlights in one hand and machetes in the other.

He was in the vampire's den.

It was probably the mild concussion, but Sam couldn't help thinking he loved what he'd done with the place, then had to squeeze his eyes shut again and take a few deep, painful breaths to keep himself from laughing.

It was homier than Sam would've expected. He saw some nice pieces of furniture, including a rumpled-up queen-sized bed in one corner and the couch Sam was on. A huge, state-of-the-art fridge hummed quietly down at the other end of the room. There was an impressive stereo system near the bed, along with a lot of shelving stuffed full of records, tapes, and CDs. The walls were papered with concert and album posters. A few movies spiced up the mix.

There were also three of Sam's fellow hunters, only one awake and looking blearily around, all of them tied to chairs. The bare concrete floor underneath them was covered by a plastic sheet. One that'd already been used a few times, going off the stains and white-curled edges.

A recliner had been wrapped haphazardly in plastic, too, tarp duct-taped in place. And Sam would be willing to bet that was the vampire, lounging in it and reading some kind of comic book.

He was as much a surprise as his den had been, even though Sam was fully aware mature vampires looked like normal people as long as their fangs were retracted. Wearing beat-up jeans and a faded henley, his short hair (somewhere between dark blonde and light brunette) was gelled messily up, and he looked young. Near Sam's age. He was...the first phrase Sam's brain spit up was _male model type_. He could see that even in the gloom. Heavily-lashed green eyes with the cokehead pupils vampires always had, strong jaw and cheekbones, a mouth that brushed up against "too full." High school locker rooms couldn't have been fun for him.

He was wearing headphones, so he couldn't have heard Sam's heartrate and breathing change. He hadn't noticed he was awake. Sam closed his eyes, not eager to change that.

What were his options here? A list sprang up in the oil-slick blackness behind his lids, scrolling slowly. He wasn't bound, for some reason. He also didn't have any weapons on him. He hadn't seen anything in the room he could use to take off a vampire's head, and doubted he could get his hands on enough dead man's blood to paralyze him. But the essence of what Sam was pushed for him to kill the monster, avenge the victims, save future ones.

Probably the best choice would be to leave and come back with what he needed. Including healed wounds, because Sam knew he wasn't fatally hurt, but he wasn't in any condition for a fight, either. But with his ankle (sprained, broken?), could he even walk? He hadn't seen a door, so it was probably behind him. Could he get to it and out before the vampire grabbed him again?

It was a moot point anyway. He couldn't leave the others.

"Oh, hey." Sam's breath stuttered at the whiskey-and-smoke voice, and his eyes popped involuntarily open. The vampire put his book aside and got up with a crunch of plastic. "You're awake." He tugged his headphones down around his neck as he headed for the couch. "Was waiting on you to get started."

Sam tensed. It hurt. He'd block with his forearm, if he went for his throat, take the fangs in the meat. Maybe try to crush the trachea or gouge out the eyes with his other hand. They'd both heal, but not instantaneously. It might give him enough time to get the other hunters free and run for it.

"I'm Dean." The vampire introduced himself casually, popping a squat with a grunt. "And you are?"

"Sam." No danger in telling him that.

"Nice to meet you, Sam." With Dean crouching, they were on the same level. Sam watched his teeth behind his plush lips. Only the blunt, human ones visible so far. "Y'know, I get you and your asshole friends came here to kill me and I oughta be mad." He waved at the three captives behind him. The conscious one blinked fuzzily. "Honestly, though, feel like I should thank you for the home delivery. Way easier than going on a grocery run." Dean scrutinized Sam. "In fact, I'm set up for a _long _time, here. Since when does it take ten hunters to slice up one fang?"

Sam swallowed and didn't answer. Because he was sure Dean already knew. One vamp with a body count spiraling into the hundreds, and that consisting only of the ones they could tie specifically to him in the past decade...that was no milk run. Whole nests, working in tandem with other nests, weren't that destructive. And he was so _good _at staying in the wind, leaving everybody who came after him in singles and pairs broken open and empty like beer bottles behind him. There'd been some talk to the effect he might've been a hunter before turning.

_Not a real one._ Dad again, unwelcome but unavoidable. _Would've offed himself soon as the blood hit his tongue, if it meant anything to him._

Sam was strung tight enough to almost shake, which amplified all the damage to him, made him even more aware of how helpless he was. His teeth were clenched and he couldn't risk taking his eyes off Dean. He seemed to pick up on all that. Not that it was hard.

"Hey. Dude. Calm down, okay?" Dean raised his hands, palms out, harmless. "I'm not gonna kill you. Not right now, at least." Sam squeezed one of the couch cushions he was laying on. "I've got so many hunters I can fill my stores back up _and _go a little hog-wild. Think I've earned that. And _you_, Sammy, I've got a special job in mind for you. I always do this. Pick somebody out." Dean pointed at Sam and winked, making a clicking noise with his mouth. "Chose you 'cause you're the prettiest outta the whole bunch by a long shot. Sure you get that all the time."

Sam just blinked. It'd been ages since a guy this attractive had hit on him, and it might be flattering normally. In this situation, it wasn't.

Dean held the grin for a second longer, then let it fade as he glanced away and coughed, embarrassed. "Anyway. Yeah." He looked back at Sam. "Can't have you interfering while I'm chowing down on your buddies, so..."

He was fast. Maybe it was a vampire thing, maybe it was because Sam'd hit his head. But Dean had a pair of padded handcuffs out of his back pocket and Sam's wrist bound to one of the arms of the couch before Sam even realized what he was doing. Sam yanked at the cuffs and sat up as Dean straightened and back away. His chest and back protested loudly.

"No!" The bracelets were wrapped heavily with foam, but they were real handcuffs. They weren't about to break anytime soon. "Don't! Don't do it."

After tossing his headphones and the iPod they were attached to onto the bed, Dean went straight to the three hunters he'd tied up, plastic crinkling under his boots. He grabbed one who was still unconscious by the hair, pulled his head back to expose his throat. Sam saw the guy's eyelids flutter and heard him groan. He didn't remember his name, wasn't even sure he'd offered it in the first place.

Sam swung his legs down, ignored the sick agony that jolted through his ankle, and stood up. It held his weight. He hauled at the couch, and fire caught in his ribcage. Either it was bolted to the floor or it was the heaviest goddamn piece of furniture ever made. He couldn't budge it. He tried to break the arm he was cuffed to, a solid wooden loop that ran up into a forest-green cushion, but didn't have any luck there, either. Out of options, Sam yelled.

_"Stop!"_

Dean ignored him as he opened his mouth and dropped his fangs, halfway between needles and shark teeth. He glanced at Sam when he started shouting, though.

"Don't make me come back over there and gag you," he warned, voice a little distorted by the fangs. Then he chomped right into the neck of the guy whose head he had a hold of. The guy didn't react beyond a surprised little grunt.

After one final, useless tug at the cuffs, Sam dropped back onto the couch, battered body lighting up in a symphony of pain at the impact. He was numb, horrified, and above all, helpless. It was like his father dying all over again, nothing he could do.

He didn't want to watch. But it didn't seem like he could look away.

Dean must have hit an artery. Probably on purpose, given how long he had to have been doing this. He was gulping down quick, huge mouthfuls, Adam's apple bobbing fast in his throat, and blood was still leaking out at the corner of his lips. A red drop, dark in the soft lighting, snaked slowly down the man's grizzled neck.

Dean's eyes were closed, the look on his face one of unmistakable pleasure. Bliss, even. His full lips were suctioned onto the hunter's throat like he was giving him a hickey, and as he drank, Sam could actually see the shape of his belly beginning to swell up and round out underneath his shirt. How much blood was in a human body? Over a gallon, Sam remembered. And he seriously intended to drink all three of them? Then possibly Sam?

Sam felt his face twitch with what he hoped was disgust. He'd never heard of a vampire bursting. He'd never heard of a vampire gorging itself like this, either. It sounded like Dean had done this before, but Sam wasn't totally sure he wouldn't see him pop in a few minutes.

Dean's free hand went to his stomach, touching the bulge of it through his shirt. He pulled the fabric up. The waistband of his jeans was digging into him, flesh shelving over it, and he undid the button and zipper to accommodate the bloat. It wobbled some as it sloshed free. He stroked it. Sam tore his eyes off him and looked at the hunter, maybe already dead, eyes fixed sightlessly on the ceiling. It seemed like he got paler every time Dean swallowed.

It wasn't that much longer afterwards that Dean detached from the chalk-white corpse and straightened up, breathing heavily. Blood painted his lips, webbed his fangs, and trickled gently down his chin, a couple drops landing on his henley. He cleaned his mouth off with a lazy swipe of his tongue, long and very pink. Sam swallowed himself.

"Alcoholic," Dean pronounced, voice a throaty rasp. He still had a hand on his belly, noticeably distended, pale skin visible between his shirt and his undone jeans. "Most of you guys are." His pupils were even bigger than before when he looked at Sam, tapetum flare sparking behind them with the movement of his head. What Sam wouldn't give to still have his cell on him, or his flashlight. He could blind him. "You gonna scream about this next one, too?"

"Don't kill him." Sam shook his head. "Please. Don't kill any of them." He could literally feel blood pooling in his ankle, bowing it out like Dean's stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to elevate it and just _lie back _while Dean murdered these guys. His brothers-in-arms, no matter how you looked at it. "I'll do whatever you want, I promise. Just let them go."

Dean belched. "You'll do whatever I want anyway."

He moved on to the other unconscious hunter. The one who was awake seemed slightly more aware of his surroundings now, struggling weakly against the rope and cabling holding him to the chair, but his back was to the vampire and his victim. The wet _crunch _of tearing flesh when Dean bit into the fresh throat panicked him. Sam winced, hard, and his bruises sang.

But there wasn't anything he could do besides sit there and watch. As Dean drained another person, as his stomach steadily inflated further and further. He was getting huge, approaching full-term-pregnancy-size, belly round and jiggling with every movement. Didn't look like he was in danger of bursting anytime soon. Just growing. Sam remembered reading somewhere that a human stomach could hold up to four liters. Vampires, obviously, had a higher capacity.

Dean was obscenely bloated by the time he was finished with the second guy. Sam knew his name: Richard. He didn't know anything else about him.

Dean groaned in satisfaction as he slowly hauled himself upright, thrown off-balance by his brand-new potbelly. He had a hold on the shoulder of the newest corpse to steady himself. After a few seconds, he went straight for the third hunter (Keith, Sam remembered). Dean grabbed his head with both hands, and the guy stiffened. He didn't bite him, though. Just broke his neck with an expert jerk. Then, Dean waddled slowly over to Sam. Sam pressed himself back into the couch and tried not to hyperventilate.

Dean didn't go for his throat. Panting, he fished something out of his back pocket, then bent over with what looked like tremendous difficulty. Pressing his stomach against his thighs forced another burp out of him. Sam expected fangs in his wrist any second when Dean grabbed it, not for the cuffs to fall away as he unlocked them.

Dean straightened again. He wiped his red-wet mouth with one hand, then pointed firmly at Sam. "Stay." Returning to the chairs, he started expertly untying the body he'd just made. "And put your goddamn foot back up, gonna have you walking in a minute."

Sam watched him drag Keith over to the recliner he'd been in earlier and collapse into it, corpse on his lap, before he brought the limp neck up to where his fangs were still out, and latched hard. Sam hoped for a miracle. Old, thick blood turning to poison in Dean's guts and veins, freezing his nerves brittle and paralyzing him until his system could work through it. He knew it wouldn't happen, though. The body wasn't old enough for what Dean was drinking to count as proper dead man's blood.

For the first time, Sam looked over his shoulder and found the door. The heavily-locked and barricaded door. He couldn't reach it without Dean noticing, let alone get it open. And there still weren't any weapons he could see.

It occurred to him, for the first time, he could've broken his thumb to get out of the cuffs, maybe saved at least one life. But it was too little, too late.

Aching inside and out, Sam laid back down after wedging the pillows under his ankle again. It felt immediately better to have it up.

Almost twenty minutes later, Dean finished with Keith. He'd been drinking slow and languid, eyes dark, hooded, with only the thinnest ring of emerald slivered around the pupil. He let the empty body tumble to the floor and laid back. His tongue hung out of his dripping mouth as he panted. Sam had no doubt he couldn't move from the chair; his stomach was enormous, stuffed with gallons and gallons of blood.

"A'right." Dean lifted a hand and beckoned to Sam. "C'mere."

Sam couldn't see that he had much of a choice. His ankle really didn't like the idea, but he rose, and limped slowly over to Dean. Looking at him brought to mind bloated ticks, mosquitoes, fat leeches. He was half disgusted by the state he was in and half amazed.

He was quietly ashamed of it, but Sam's groin was also pounding in a faint echo of his ankle. Stress, he assumed. Either that or his head injury.

"Doesn't that...hurt?" Sam asked quietly.

"'Course it does." Dean groaned and squinched his eyes shut, then retracted his fans. His primary teeth were pinked with blood. "So get rubbing." He cracked an eye. "'S what I kept you around for."

There was a second where, staring down at Dean, Sam thought about breaking his neck. It probably wouldn't kill him, but it'd put him out of play for a while. But Sam wasn't sure he could pull it off. Even with Dean like this. He was hurt, after all. Much as he hated it, doing this probably gave him the best chance at survival, and at helping the other guys. He hoped they were still alive.

Sam knelt. It was a little tough, but he managed it. The recliner was low enough, and he was tall enough, that this gave him the best access to Dean's belly. He put both hands on it. The skin was warm, and taut, and surprisingly soft. He could feel tiny gurgles against his palms and when he actually started rubbing, the blood filling Dean out was silky and fluid. Obviously. It sloshed at his movements.

Sam wasn't a massage therapist by any stretch of the imagination, but Dean was groaning in appreciation, so he couldn't be doing too bad. He did his best to be gentle, dug in harder when he found what felt like a cramp. He used every inch of his hands, fingertips to heels. His face was inches from Dean's gut. This close, the freckles that covered his fair skin leaped out at him, the way an overwhelming number of stars showed up in wild skies.

He smelled good. How in the hell did he smell so good? Leather, clean sweat, vanilla...only the barest coppery tang of blood. Sam licked his lips, swallowed. His jeans were feeling tighter than his left boot.

He'd used to have just a little bit of a thing for overeating, and heavier guys. Stupid kink. He'd buried that years ago, though. Couldn't afford the distraction or to stick out any more than he already did. He didn't want to even think about it coming back up now.

_You focus on one thing._ Direct quote from his father, halfway decent advice. _Hunting. Anything outside that'll get you killed._

He might be painfully right, this time.

"Y'know, I saw how you fucked your ankle up," Dean commented out of nowhere, lazy. He let out a soft burp. "They had you walking down a rotten hallway. Said if it could hold you, it'd hold anybody, right? 'Cause you're so freakin' tall."

Sam didn't say anything. He rubbed over Dean's navel, which was stretched flat.

"Didn't hold you, though." Dean shifted his hips and his stomach wobbled. "I tell you I know some of these guys you came in with? Seen 'em, heard of 'em. God, they're dicks." When Sam glanced up, he realized Dean was looking at him, one hand behind his head. "Doesn't a guy as good-looking as you have anybody better to run with?"

"They're good hunters. And...we were hunting, so not much else matters." Sam cleared his throat. Fuck, he was hard. He hated that. "How 'bout you? Where's your nest?" He met Dean's eyes. "Never even heard of a vamp flying solo before you."

"They're dead." Dean burped again, stifling it with his free hand this time. "Ain't interested in joining another one, or rebuilding. Being alone suits me just fine."

A long silence followed that, broken only by the soft, pleased noises Dean and his overfed belly were making. Sam breathed in his scent until he could taste him. He stole upward glances at his slightly-parted lips, his long lashes, the finger-tracks in his thick hair. Sam did his best to think it away, but all the unsexy thoughts in the world didn't stand a single chance against what he was seeing and feeling and smelling. He just kept getting hornier.

It took him way too long to notice the telltale bulge in Dean's gray boxer briefs, under his stomach, clearly visible where he'd opened his jeans. He was...he was big. Sam's face slowly went hot enough to melt a hole through the reinforced door, felt like.

Did vampires have pheromones? Anything like sex pollen? It'd sure explain a lot, but Sam'd also never heard anything to support it. Maybe Dean was actually an incubus. Maybe that was why he was affecting him like this. But they didn't have fangs, and they didn't drink blood. Every other bodily fluid, but not blood.

It'd been a while. Sam's arms were starting to hurt, like he was kneading dough or clay, and his cock ached. He coughed to get Dean's attention, not sure if he'd fallen asleep or not.

"So what're you gonna do with me once I'm done?" Sam asked quietly. Dean opened his eyes and squinted at him.

"Well, soon as I've digested enough, I'll kill you," Dean said matter-of-factly. "Drain you and store your blood, same as I'm gonna do with the rest of your little band of idiots. Harder than it sounds, but I've got it down to an art now. Don't waste near as much as I used to."

Sam's mouth was dry. He looked up at Dean over the curve of his stomach. "Any way I can avoid that?"

"Guess if you show me I oughta keep you around." Dean yawned. His tongue curled like a cat's. "Good luck with that, though. You give pretty decent belly rubs, but everybody does when they're trying to stay alive."

Sam's hands stilled momentarily, then he started massaging again, digging his thumbs in. He took a deep breath. _Chose you 'cause you're the prettiest._ Leaning forward, trying to force his mind blank and empty, Sam pressed his nose against Dean's swollen belly. Nuzzled it. He closed his eyes as he brushed his lips against the trail of fine, dusky hair that ran from Dean's navel down into his underwear, then gave it a tiny little kitten lick. He heard Dean suck in a hitching gasp above him.

"Easy there, killer," Dean warned huskily. "You bite me, I'll crush your skull."

Sam moved slowly down, mouth on Dean's hot skin, nose pressing into his blood-filled stomach. He kept rubbing, but took one hand off and pulled Dean's boxers down with it. His cock came free. Unrestricted, it reached its full length fast, impressive and thicker than Sam would've expected. Dean twitched when Sam took hold of him. He could feel his heartbeat hammering in it because, contrary to a lot of lore, vampires weren't actually dead.

With the hand he still had on it, Sam pushed Dean's pliable, heavy belly up so that he could get to his dick more easily. He angled it upwards and licked the mushroom tip of it, full tongue, luscious. It was bitter and salty, but not bad. Sam worked up a generous mouthful of saliva, then drooled it right onto Dean's length, slicking the head and part of the shaft. A moan rumbled up out of Dean.

Sam took him into his mouth before he could think about it too much. Lips wrapped around him, he hollowed his cheeks, and swallowed past his gag reflex. Hard flesh filled his mouth and throat, and he still had a hand wrapped around Dean's very base. He let go in order to pull his balls out of his underwear.

Sam'd never been quite so glad for anything as that his dad couldn't see him right then.

His tongue was shaking, he was drooling. He pulled back, mostly so he could get in a breath, and then dove back down, taking about half an inch more of Dean into his mouth than he'd had before. Sam fondled Dean's balls, feeling spit running down onto them as he gagged around the vampire's throbbing girth. Based on the noises Dean was making, and how tense his thighs were on either side of Sam's head, he liked it. Every groan and huff sent a blurt of precome into Sam's own underwear.

Sam let go of Dean's belly. The weight settled onto the back of his skull, where he'd hit when he fell through the floor, but there was something soothing about it. He ground the heel of his hand into his groin, palming himself through his jeans. That finally gave him a little bit of relief.

Sucking on Dean like he would a popsicle, Sam started bobbing his head in a regular rhythm. His goal was to get the whole cock inside him (without accidentally choking himself out, obviously), and he got a little bit closer every time he went down. Maybe he oughta bite it off, skull crushed or not, but he didn't. Dean's balls sat heavy in his palm. He rubbed his thumb across both, giving the sac a little tug, and Dean pulsed.

He pressed harder into his own bulge. The movements of that hand were practically unconscious.

"Fuck," Dean gasped out. "Where'd you learn to suck dick like that?"

That was a good sign. A great sign, actually. Sam just wasn't sure it was "save his life" good, and wasn't that ridiculous? That his survival depended on giving a phenomenal blowjob? It sounded like a plot from one of those stupid cheap-motel pornos he'd never been able to stand.

It definitely wasn't hot in the moment. At all. This entire situation was horrifying and Sam was only hard because there was something massively wrong with him.

Sam began to hum, low in his throat, and Dean twitched again, something hot and thin spilling from his tip and drawing a trail on Sam's tongue. Sam clenched his fist against his own cock. His jaw ached. He was still fondling Dean's balls but, going off a hunch, he raised that hand back to his stomach. He'd liked him rubbing it. It might've even been the thing that got him up.

So Sam pressed into the huge, warm bloat of Dean's distended belly, kneading deep. It gurgled, and he heard Dean burp. He bobbed his head faster, eyelids fluttering every time Dean hit the back of his throat. Swallowing the now-steady stream of pre Dean was spilling into him, Sam let just a hint of teeth slip into it all. Dean seemed like he'd be into that.

He pressed harder and harder on his own dick, knuckling into it, hips starting to rock.

Dean grabbed a handful of Sam's hair all of a sudden. The sting in his scalp sent a shudder through the bottom of Sam's stomach, where heat started to gather. He heard the soft, wet sound of Dean's fangs dropping, he growled, and then he exploded in Sam's mouth.

There was so much. Enough to drown Sam, seemed like. He gulped rapidly, a lot like when Dean had been draining the other hunters, not wanting to risk spitting. He felt some leak out over his lips despite his best efforts.

Then he burst against his hand, behind the denim of his jeans. Dean's softening cock fell out of his gasping mouth, and he slumped down as fireworks went off in his head and groin, reeling. Dean's fingers slipped through his hair.

It was easily the best orgasm he'd ever had.

As the aftershocks were fading, a wet spot spreading on the front of Sam's jeans, Dean shifted forward some with a groan of effort. His eyes were glittering and his fangs were gone again. He stroked Sam's sweat-messy hair, individual strands sticking on his calluses. All of Sam's pain had dulled down. He was flooded with something loose and sleepy.

Sucking wind, Sam looked up at Dean. He knew he was flushed, mouth open, lips swollen and dripping with spit and come. Dean looked more satisfied than Sam had known anyone could ever even feel, sucked off and fed to his limits.

He cupped the side of Sam's jaw, and it was just post-coital instinct for Sam to lean into the contact.

"All right," Dean rumbled. "Guess I gotta keep you."


End file.
